


Cavern

by Jennie_D



Series: Becoming New [8]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beyond the Wall - Freeform, Free Folk Culture and Customs, Free Folk Jon, Free Folk Jon Snow, Gen, M/M, Post-Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Wildling Jon Snow, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:44:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: “Where are we going?”“Just follow me boy, we’ll be there soon enough. You wouldn’t want me to spoil the surprise, eh?”“I have seen caves before Tormund.”





	Cavern

“Where are we going?”

“Just follow me boy, we’ll be there soon enough. You wouldn’t want me to spoil the surprise, eh?”

“I have seen caves before Tormund.”

“Not like this one. There!”

Tormund moved quickly through the narrow passage and Jon rushed to follow him. Suddenly the tight tunnel opened up into a gigantic cavern, it’s ceiling thrice as high as the Great Hall of Winterfell. An immense, ancient space that towered higher than Jon could ever reach. And in the warm flickering torchlight, Jon could see the stone walls were covered with thousands, millions of handprints, some timeworn, others nearly new. Jon had seen cave drawings by the First Men before, but nothing so massive, so majestic. The endless impressions went on far farther than Jon’s eyes could see; for all he knew they went on forever.

Tormund smiled softly, taking in the awe playing across Jon’s features. “We’ve been coming here a long time, the Free Folk. It’s tradition for us to leave a print when we stay here. Some say this tradition is older than even the First Men. See?”

He gently guided Jon’s torch higher towards a crag where strange small but spindly fingered prints were drawn. “These are said to be the hands of The Children.”

Tormund then busied himself with something in his coats, but Jon kept his eyes on those primeval markings. He began to walk silently through the cavern, staring at hands, some as large as giants, others half the size of his own, and felt an odd sense of reverence settle over him.

The Free Folk, the First Men, the Giants, the Children, all had gathered here. Before Westeros was Westeros, before there were any Starks or Lannisters or Targaryens, maybe even before the first Long Night, this place was here. He felt small, humbled, but also strangely connected to these people he had never met and never would meet. His own problems, the horrors he had faced, the horrors he had done, felt small suddenly in the face of the eons of lives lived in front of him.

Tormund’s ancestors had been here, and so would his descendants, long after they were both gone.

A sudden clatter shook Jon from his thoughts, and he turned to see Tormund swearing and picking up a bone tool he had dropped. He was using it to crush something in a small bowl, and Jon stopped to watch him as he went back to work, Tormund’s hair gleaming in the torchlight.

“Hand me some water, would you?”

Jon handed over his waterskin, and Tormund carefully put a few drops in the bowl, then handed the skin back and began to mix the bowl’s contents.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to leave our mark.” Tormund said before walking off suddenly and looking intently at the cavern walls. After a few moments he called out.

“Ah still here! Got a perfect bit of empty stone I’ve been saving for something special, looks like no one else got it to it first. Come, come!”

Jon walked over to where Tormund was crouching down and pouring the contents of the bowl into a shallow seashell he’d produced from his furs. He rummaged around for something else, then put his strong large hand on empty bit of wall.

“Now come closer, watch me do it first, it’s simple. You just dip this hollow bit of bird’s bone in the paint and blow through it so it goes across your hand. Like this, watch now.”

Tormund blew through the bone and Jon watched a light smattering of crude paint splatter on Tormund’s hand and the stone behind it. Tormund repeated the process a few more times, and when he moved his hand, a clear strong impression of him was left behind. He grinned at Jon.

“See? Easily done. Now let’s do yours. Put your hand up here.”

Jon moved towards the stone, reaching for the wall, but as his fingers brushed it, he hesitated.

“This…this is a Free Folk place.”

Tormund looked down at him in concern and confusion.

“Well, your ancestors…they probably would not be happy if a Crow made his mark here.”

Tormund’s expression shifted, regarding Jon with a sad smile.

“No, they wouldn’t be.”

Jon dropped his eyes and quickly drew back from the wall, but Tormund caught his wrist gently with his clean hand.

“Good thing there aren’t any Crows here then.”

Jon looked up at Tormund quickly; his blue eyes were warm in the firelight. When Tormund spoke, his words were soft and fond.

“You’re one of us Jon Snow. Never doubt that you’re one of us.”

Jon let out a long breath he did not realize he’d been holding. Tormund wordlessly guided his hand back towards the stone, and Jon splayed his fingers over the cool ancient rock. Jon took the seashell and blew into the bone gently; the paint felt smooth as it splashed across his skin. When he was finished, he stared at his and Tormund’s handprints, side by side.

“Now we’ll be here in this cave together forever.” Tormund whispered, his voice reverential.

Jon took Tormund’s paint covered hand in his own, overcome with a primal emotion he could not quite name, but which felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Basically I ended up writing a whole fic for a photoset I did on tumblr, which is here...  
> [https://tormundjonthings.tumblr.com/post/186336700023/where-are-we-going-just-follow-me-boy-well](url)


End file.
